


Pricktionary

by sburbanite



Series: Crotchrockets in Flight: a series of unrelated DaveKat meteorfics about getting an awkward boner for your best friend [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drawing Alien Genitalia for your Best Friend, M/M, Meteorstuck, Silly, Teenage Dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5361179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sburbanite/pseuds/sburbanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drawing wieners for your alien best bro shouldn't be this hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fuck yeah. This is the raddest troll rapper you've conjured with your righteous collection of alchemized sharpies so far, and you slide it across to Karkat eagerly. He glances up from his novel to take a gander at your masterpiece. 

"Troll Eminem didn't have horns like that, and he was a brownblood rather than rust. Otherwise that's pretty spot on." 

You deflate a little. He's not really into it today, you guess. The game is getting a little stale, okay, it's practically last month's chunky milk at this point, but what the fuck else is there to do? You bite your lip with embarassment when you hear the sigh slip out into the echoing expanse of the common area. Goddamn it, now Karkat is looking at you with that frowny face of his. 

"What the fuck crawled up your nook today, Dave?" 

Nothing, you think to yourself. That's kinda the problem. Being sixteen sucks dong hard enough without being imprisoned in a social circle comprised of seven people, none of whom are interested. That and the fact that you've exhausted every possible activity this catacomb of labs and nothingness has to offer. The meteor is boring, and you are motherfucking bored. 

You slump forward onto your folded arms, forehead nestling comfortably into the plush of your PJ's. Maybe if you can just go to sleep for a bit, it'll pass some of the time before your life gets thrown back into the whirling blade-pitcher. It's what you used to do back in Houston, back at the start of this stupid infinite meteor journey before you got to know Karkat. Before you grabbed onto him like a drowning sailor to a piece of flotsam. Or another sailor, you guess. Stranger things have happened at sea. 

You start when Karkat touches your shoulder, and remember you forgot to answer him. 

"Dave?" 

It's that concerned tone again, the one he's been using more often of late. The one that makes your heart leap into your throat. You made him worry again, you useless sack of shit. 

"Nothing's wrong, Karkat. I'm just so bored I'm surprised I haven't reached critical mass and collapsed into a singularity composed of pure ennui." You know he probably didn't understand much of that. He understood enough, though. 

"Well, what do you want to do, nookface? You're not going to get any less bored sitting on your ass with your head on the fucking table. Want me to read some of this to you? There's a particularly graphic blackrom scene coming up." 

He's smirking when you turn and look at him, a couple of fangs peeking over his bottom lip. The cheeky shit knows you get majorly grossed out by the kismesex parts of his novels. He's spent almost as much time snorting with laughter at your disgusted expressions as you have giggling unashamedly at the florid prose of the redrom scenes. It turns out thrashing tentadicks are the opposite of sexy when they're described as "writhing members." Keeping score of the number of times "throbbing" or "pulsing" or "muculent" was used provided hours of entertainment. 

Coming up with replacements was even better. Deep in your irony-riddled soul, you treasure the memory of nearly making Karkat wet himself with laughter after he held up a hand for a substitution and you'd blurted out "furtive spam tickler". You've heard all the stories by now, though. This novel is an old favorite of Karkat's. 

"Nah, that's OK, man. Has Yarniz fucked Marwit yet?" 

Karkat snorts, amused. 

"Not even fucking close, Dave. Yirkiz and Morkis have pailed each other's brains out, yes. It's not as interesting when you already know they're going to end up as diamonds, though." 

Karkat sounds a little fed up too. You guess that's probably got something to do with you moping in a Davepuddle all over the table. You turn your head so you can assess just much you're bringing him down. It doesn't look good, there's a definite frown forming on his face. 

"Sorry, dude." 

Fuck, the five o'clock frown express has arrived. Everyone out, take all of your goddamned emotional baggage with you. Please mind the gap between Dave Strider’s face and his own fist. 

"What? What the fuck are you sorry for? Dave, you're acting weird. Explain what’s going on, because I am in no mood for dancing the bullshit fandango of trying to get you to actually talk about your feelings. Just spit it out." 

When did Karkat start reading you this well? It’s not fucking fair. You can’t even hide behind your shades any more. He sighs in frustration; you must be doing that thing with your face again. The thing where you don’t show any emotion whatsoever. 

“I’m just bored, like I said. I should probably shoo you away ‘cause if you stick around you might lose all skeletal integrity and end up joining me down here in mopeseville; population Dave Strider. It’s too late for me, Karkat, save yourself.” 

You give him a little shove. He shoves back, gently. 

“I’m not fucking going anywhere, moron. Sit up. Use your goddamn posture-pole.” 

He gets up, pulling your shoulders to try and lift you. You go limp, flopping all the way backward and practically toppling him over onto his ass. He snarls down into your face, as you look directly up his nose. 

“Hey. You got boogers, man.” 

Karkat pushes you back into your self-indulgent heap, bonelessly sprawled on the table. You hear the squeak of his sneakers as he pads away. You’ve succeeded in driving him off. Good job, now you’re alone. Again. You jump out of your fucking skin when Karkat puts a cup of coffee down sharply in front of you. 

“Get up. You’re bored, not dead. I’ve got an idea for something for you to entertain yourself with, so sit the fuck up and have some caffeine.” 

“Fiiiiiine.” You ham it up, imagining how much you must sound like Egbert. Not that you’d actually know what his voice sounds like. 

“I’ll bite, man. How’re you gonna get me out of this funky-fresh funk?” 

Rolling his eyes, Karkat explains his idea. You rewind your mental recording so you can verify he said what you think he just said. 

“You want me to give you an anatomy lesson?” 

Your brain fills with an uncomfortable combination of doctor’s office and rose-petal-strewn bedroom. What the fuck is he asking you for, exactly? 

“What, like a practical demonstration? Jeez, Karkat, buy a dude dinner first.” 

He huffs, his face turning pink. 

“Not like that, you colossal douche. Use your fucking artistic 'talents'. It’s not as if you’ve never drawn a human dick in my presence before. It just doesn’t seem fair, you’ve heard all the gory details of what trolls have got going on down there, but I haven’t got a fucking clue how it works for humans. So draw me a picture.” 

You can tell he’s embarrassed, but it also seems like he’s wanted to ask for a while. You know he’s quizzed Kanaya awkwardly about the differences between male and female humans. You wonder why he didn’t just ask you sooner. You really wish Google Image Search was still a thing so he wouldn’t have to. But…you’re going out of your mind with boredom, and graphically illustrated dicks would probably draw an interesting reaction from Karkat. 

“OK, fine. I could go for a round of Pricktionary. I mean, I’m practically Leonhardon Dickvinci, Karkat, I’m gonna elucidate the shit out of the ancient mysteries of human genitalia. You have to draw some troll junk too, though. S’only fair. You brought romance novels on this intergalactic road-trip, not porno novels. I’ve got no fucking clue what a bulge looks like other than wiggly and slimy.” 

He turns red to the tips of his little elf-ears, but offers his hand. You shake it, the fact you taught him that humans shake hands to seal any deal whatsoever never gets old. Even Rose couldn’t find it in her heart to correct him when he pumped her hand enthusiastically after agreeing to cut his hair. 

The blank paper is a little intimidating; you’ve basically got the sexual reputation of your species riding on the quality of your pictographic dongs. This calls for finesse , style, and a good deal of creative license. You can’t pass up this golden opportunity to spread some good old-fashioned misinformation. You shall name your creation the Fuckrocket 9000. 

You take your sweet time with the drawings, adding as much fictional detail as your internet-fuelled imagination can supply. Glancing at Karkat, you notice the tip of his liquorice-coloured tongue sticking out of his mouth as he concentrates. Sometimes he’s so unintentionally adorable it hurts. His arm is curled protectively around his scrawls, and you can’t wait for the unveiling of his disasterpiece. Karkat can’t draw for shit, so this is bound to be the highlight of your week. Or month, maybe. You’ll reserve judgement until you see it. 

Finally, yours is done. The male version, with its variety of prongs and protuberances (a culmination of all you can remember from your brief research into dildo technology), is still close enough to carry a smidgeon of verisimilitude. It still looks more dick-like than you thought it would, but there’s a few parts you’re going to have fun explaining. The matching female part is kind of a mess, though. It’s not as if you know much about what ladies have got goin’ on in their pants, anyway. The internet is as dead as your species, and unlike Karkat, you didn’t have any soft-core erotica about your person when you bid goodbye to your planet. The only other source of info is Rose, and you’d rather face the wrath of the Fuckrocket 9000 than ask your goddamn sister about it. 

Karkat is still scribbling, and your impatience is probably more apparent than it should be. He smacks your hand away when you try to grab at his drawing, a low warning-growl in the back of his throat. It’s another five interminable minutes of driving him crazy by tapping your fingers on the table before he’s done. Reluctantly, he pushes the paper toward you as you practically thrust yours into his face. 

“What the fuck, Strider!? Is this even the right way up?” 

Your face is a marble edifice of cool, but you’re laughing your ass off inside. 

“Sure, man. The rarebit goes at the top, see, and that stimulates the margerina on the lady parts. I labelled all that shit, it’s all pretty self-explanatory.” 

You leave Karkat to read all of your labels, subheadings and footnotes while you take a look at his offering. There are labels, but they’re in Alternian, and even your freaky God-tier powers can’t translate words you don’t actually know. 'Bulge','nook' and 'shame globes' are the only intelligible things on the page, and one of the drawings looks kind of like two slugs mating. You sorta don’t want to ask…but you also really, really want to ask. 

“Dude, what exactly am I looking at?” 

Karkat flushes red again, putting down the labyrinthine puzzle-cock you drew for him. He gestures gingerly at a few places on the diagram, his voice cracking a little as he explains. You wonder if it’s embarrassment or if he’s finally hit troll puberty. 

“Uh, since you asked…this is the bulge, it sort of looks like…I don’t fucking know, Dave, it looks like a fucking bulge, OK? Like a slitherbeast. About this thick.” 

He makes a circle with his thumb and forefinger, indicating a roughly similar girth to a human dick. You aren’t really looking at that, though, because the expression on his face is way more interesting. He looks uncomfortable, sure, but the way his snaggleteeth are catching on the corner of his lower lip is definitely new. So is the red flush painted across the top of his cheeks. You tear your eyes away; force yourself to stop staring at the tips of those teeth like a creep. 

“Cool. Pretty much confirms my headcanons based on all those bulge-fondling scenes in your novels. What…uh.” 

Fuck. You have to ask about the slug on slug action. That is a thing that has to happen. Goddamn this is so fucking awkward, but it’s also the most amusing and exciting thing that’s happened for ages. 

“What’s goin’ on here?” You point to the region of interest. Karkat’s face is just priceless. 

“That’s bulge-fencing.” He clears his throat, attempts to use a detatched, scientific tone. He fails spectacularly. 

“Between kismeses it’s how one partner asserts dominance, but with matesprits it’s more like…massaging each other, I guess? I’m going to admit, Strider, I have no fucking clue. I got a bit carried away with the drawing and it’s an important part of troll culture, but…y’know.” 

You nod. You fucking know, all right. The topic has come up on more than one occasion. 

“Dude, virgin solidarity.” You offer a fist, which he bumps. 

“Just chill, Karkat. I’m not expecting a fucking tutorial over here.” 

Still. You’re not going to complain about what you’ve heard so far. The novels had been pretty graphic in a body-worshippy sort of way, but whenever the actual fricking started they suddenly turned coy. Sure, there might be a little wrestling over dom-sub roles, but you had no idea that it was dick-wrestling. Holy shit. You are suddenly jealous of an entire species. Or, rather, the seven remaining members of that species. 

You expect Karkat to ask about your drawing, but he just sorta sits there, staring at his own doodles with a face like a stop-light. You prompt him a little, trying to reassure him as you point at another unintelligible set of squiggles. This is way too interesting to stop now. 

“Cool. Troll dongs seem pretty sweet. What the hell is this mess?” 

If it were possible, Karkat looks even more mortified. Shit, maybe this isn’t such a fun game anymore. You change your mind immediately when his face morphs into a little smile you’ve never seen before. He’s still tomato-red, but he doesn’t seem unhappy about it. 

“Fuck you, it’s difficult to draw. It’s sort of meant to be a nook, Dave. I haven’t, um.” His voice drops when he carries on, obviously determined to get the words out. 

“I haven’t studied it in detail. Just, you know. Research.” 

Damn. You wonder what kind of research. Is he talking about porn, or Terezi…or himself? You’re definitely guilty of a little research of your own in that department, but…Damn. 

"Human males don’t have nooks, right?” 

You nod. You don’t really know what to say to him when he’s like…this. 

“Your loss, asshole.” He grins at you, all wicked teeth and arched eyebrow. FUCK.


	2. Chapter 2

Shit. You have to know more about that. Ever since you found out that all trolls have the same equipment, you've tried very hard to ignore the fact that your good friend Karkat has an alien pussy. You've been the model of cultural sensitivity, keeping all the inevitable thoughts about what that must be like and whether he ever does anything with it behind mental walls of foot-thick Brotanium. It's not cool to think too hard about your best friend's freaky alien junk. 

But hearing him basically admit how fucking awesome it is to have one is...it's really goddamn hot. And you are not, will not, absolutely cannot get a boner right now. You will not be the purveyor of tickets to Dave Strider's crotch-circus, and will refrain from pitching the big top in the middle of the common area. You scootch forward a little closer to the table, just in case. 

C'mon, Strider. Reactivate your cool. You can handle anything Karkat can dish out. It's only Karkat. 

"Oh yeah? I can't say I'm that cut up about not having a pussy, dude. I mean, good for you and all, but I'll keep what I've got, thanks all the same." 

He laughs, before shooting you a worryingly intense look. 

"Mmhmm. Happy with your feeble graller and flules, are you?" 

"What?" What the hell is he talking about? 

His face darkens with anger, and you belatedly remember the meticulously labelled drawing he's holding. 

"Fuck you, you arrogant piece of shit! I knew this drawing was too ludicrous to be real! What possible reason would there be to have the shame globes on the outside, for fuck's sake!?" 

His voice rises with embarrassment, and you suddenly feel like the biggest jerk in the universe for turning this into a stupid joke. You didn't realize he was going to give you an earnest treatise on troll sexuality, and you had to go and ruin it with a facetious little prank. Talk about being a shitty ambassador for your species. Not to mention a terrible excuse for a best friend. 

Karkat won't look at you, and you can sense that he's about to try and put as much distance as possible between his sweet, earnest alien ass and your lying dirtbag one. You put a hand on his arm to stop him. He wrenches it free, but doesn't get up. 

"Look, I'm sorry, Karkat. I didn't realize this was gonna be a real actual dick-comparison session, OK? You know how hard it is for me to take shit seriously. Gimme five minutes, I'll draw the real deal." 

He nods. You breathe. He's still incredibly pissed at you, but maybe you can make it up to him. This is gonna be the most accurate dick in the history of the medical and erotic sciences. 

You quickly sketch a detailed depiction of a human trouser-snake, and what you can remember about lady parts. It looks a little shitty, but what can you do. Karkat leans over your arm before you're totally finished, his curiosity obviously overwhelming his irritation. You grudgingly hand the paper over. His face screws up with confusion at what he sees. 

"You cannot be serious, Strider. This is fucking ridiculous. Globes do not belong on the outside and you will never convince me otherwise." 

"Dude. Remember the time I slipped on one of the lame satiny pillow thingies that are all over your floor and crotch-planted into the corner of your desk? There's a reason I couldn't move for ten minutes." 

Ugh. You nearly threw up, and even the memory stings. Bad times. He looks a little more sympathetic than angry now, at least. 

"Oh. Fuck. That must have hurt like hell. What are all these squiggly lines supposed to be?" 

You laugh, "It's hair, dude. Trolls don't get hair where there was no hair before once they hit the glorious heights of puberty?" 

He balks, looking a little like he's about to lose his lunch all over your masterpiece. You guess that's a no. You reach out and ruffle the hair on his head, feeling the alien texture as your fingers slide over the strands. It's more like fluff than hair. 

"Never mind, champ. We can't all be badass hairy macho men. Smooth is a good look too." 

He bats your hand away and flips you off. 

"Fuck off, bulgemunch. Hair down there is just fucking wrong. I'm surprised human females will even go near this car-crash of a sexual organ." 

You grin, "Dude, they have hair too." 

That gets you a smack on your shoulder and a thoroughly disgusted expression. You get the sense that he's not too interested in the lady parts, possibly because it's similar to what he's got going on. Or maybe because he just doesn't want to think about what Rose and Kanaya might be up to. You can get behind that. It's awkward as fuck going through the bumpier parts of puberty with a pair of incredibly hot lesbians sticking their tongues down each other's throats. Especially when one of them is your sister. 

Enough of that. No thinking about that. Getting hard from perfectly understandable nook-envy is one awkward kettle of aquatic animals, but siblingcest boners are off the charts embarrassing. 

Moving swiftly on. 

"Any more questions, Karks? My dickspertise is going to waste over here." 

You grin as his face turns pink again. This has to hold the record for the most times you've ever seen him blush, even beating the time you walked in on him reading that one novel he won't read aloud. The one with the totally blank cover. You never saw that damn book again, but it doesn't mean you don't look for it every time you visit his room. 

"Yeah. I'm nowhere near finished with you yet, Strider. Is this thing as useless and immobile as it looks?" 

He pokes at the dick-doodle, momentarily summoning an image of grey fingers on pink flesh. Fuck hormones, they are the absolute worst. This is so incredibly inappropriate. 

"Uh. I wouldn't say useless, obviously. It doesn't thrash around like a goddamned moray eel, if that's what you mean. But I can move it a little." 

Fuck, when did you start talking about your own dick? You pray to merciful Skaia that he didn't notice. 

He gives you that one eyebrow smirk again. You are so fucked. 

"Oh, really? Interesting. And does it just hang there all the time like some kind of disgusting crotch accessory, or can you put that shit away when you're in polite company?" 

His smile is like a fucking shark's now, and you know he's getting back at you for the goddamned Fuckrocket. You're fixed under his gaze until he's done with you. 

"'Fraid not. It's all dangly all the time. Humans don't have retractadongs like trolls, bro, it doesn't matter how polite you are to it."

You can feel your face turning red, but your expression remains steadfastly deadpan. Karkat looks so incredibly satisfied with himself, and you can't let him win. You're going to get out of this with as much dignity as possible. He makes a curious little trilling sound in the back of his throat, glancing back at the picture. For a blissful second you think he might be done. 

"So it's just ready to go all the time? That sheds new light on all those times you've attempted to touch me 'platonically'."

He's fucking with you on a monumental scale now, his voice growling low and amused in the back of his throat. Joking or not, that accusation raises your stress levels considerably. 

"What, no, Karkat. Of course it's not just in perma-fuck mode. You gotta sweet-talk him before he's ready for triple-x-action. Disentangling you from my goddamn cape isn't going to cut it."

Shit shit shit what are you saying? Karkat looks taken aback at the fact you're now apparently giving tips about how he might go about turning you on. Fuck your life. 

"I mean, not that you would, or would want to or anything. Be sweet talking my junk, that is, or, you know, trying to..." Fuck. "..transform and roll out." FUCK. 

Both of you are as red as two perfectly red objects now. His little smirk is still there, though. The bastard is obviously enjoying watching you squirm. 

"Yeah, I can't see what the point would be, Strider. It's not as if this thing is capable of anything interesting. Especially since it's attatched to you, after all." 

A more blatant challenge you have never heard. You can beat Vantas at his own game. If he wants details you're gonna fucking drown him in details. 

"Oh, hell no, Vantas. You do not get to malign the sexual prowess of my entire species. This thing is a goddamn multi-functional masterpiece, you can ride it, suck it, stroke it, whatever floats your aquatic transport hull. OK, so maybe that's all one function and there isn't as much variety as with your fucking Swiss Army junk, but humans are goddamn creative and I won't take any of your shit suggesting otherwise. There are advantages to not being equipped with razorblades all over the fucking place." 

You wiggle your blunt, soft fingers in his bewildered face, and stick out your tongue. Both of you are silent for a minute, and you guess maybe if you haven't won this stupid game, it's at least a draw. You also realize you were basically just talking about you and Karkat having sex. The embarrassment curling in your stomach is horrible, but the realization that you won't be able to stand up for a while is worse. God fucking dammnit. Fix this before he thinks you're a creep. 

"Sorry dude, OK, that sounded a lot more like I was really aggressively hitting on you than I intended. Uh. If you want to go I'll understand." 

Karkat's eyes involuntarily flick down to his own crotch as you say that, for just a fraction of a second. Oh. He isn't going to be going anywhere for a while either. Fantastic. Chillout time in the Broner Zone. The fact that you know you coaxed his prehensile tentacle dong out of hiding is not making it any easier to squash your own erection. His voice is shaky when he speaks. 

"Um. I probably should admit that I sort of was. Hitting on you. Sorry." 

What? 

"What?" You sound exactly as confused as you are. 

You can see Karkat mentally kicking the shit out of whatever part of his think-sponge just blurted that out. 

"Fuck, I mean, I wasn't originally. I really was curious, OK? But I could tell I was...affecting you. And it felt nice that you were thinking about me that way, so I just kept going. I...that's it I guess. So long friendship, it was nice fucking knowing you." 

Wow. Clearly your stoic facade needs some repairs, because Karkat has been aware of how turned on you've been this entire time. 

"Shit, dude, it's not that bad. We're still friends, I should probably just avoid thinking about how hot your junk is and then we can go back to fucking around like usual." 

Bad choice of terminology. Really bad. 

"Or dicking around. Messing around. Fuck. Why are all of these vaguely sexual." 

You hear him laugh as you smack your head on the table. Stupid brain, why did you have to decide your best friend was so goddamn sexy all of a sudden. 

"Or you could fucking kiss me already, Dave. That's also an option." 

You sit bolt upright, trying to process what he just said. You might not be totally in control anymore, there is a small but significant chance that your dick is firmly in the driving seat, because Karkat is very much sending "Fuck yes" signals straight into the base of your brain. Hormones aside, the fact that nervous, flustered Karkat is just about the cutest thing you've ever seen, and he's your best friend, and you're closer to him than anyone else in the whole of paradox space combined means that the decision to lean in and smooch the shit out of him is an easy one. 

It's awkward and clumsy and the best feeling you've ever felt. He's so warm and real and how did you not notice how hot he is, how the little alien noises he makes send pulses of pleasure down your spine. This has, however, done little to help the situation in your pants. Pulling away  reluctantly, you meet Karkat's hazy smile with one of your own. 

"Damn. We should do more of that, like lots more. Uh. If that's cool with you?" 

He looks at you as if you just said you forgot your own name. Of course he wants to kiss you again, he was the one who started all of this. You grin, thoroughly satisfied with yourself. It turns to a grimace as you remember your very own Fuckrocket. The damn thing is on the launch pad whether you like it or not. 

"Uh, no offense, but I think I might need to go take care of business before we can continue. I've been uncomfortably turned on for a while, and I don't want to do something I might regret." Like hump him into the ground and come in your pants. Real smooth moves. 

Karkat nods, before clearing his throat. 

"I agree. I should probably do likewise. Um. Would it be completely inappropriate and weird to suggest that since we're both going to go and 'take care of business' in separate rooms, that we do it in the same one? For, uh, science and all that bulgerot? Because I still don't believe half the crap on this piece of paper." 

His wicked grin is back, and you're not sure you're physically capable of passing up the opportunity to watch him twine his fingers around his crotch-tentacle, not to mention whatever he does with that nook of his. You nod so enthusiastically that your shades almost part company with your face. 

Later, when you've found out just exactly what it takes to make your best bro groan and shudder and come like there's no tomorrow (it's more than a little intimidating, but you're a fast learner), the sound of your phone buzzing pulls you reluctantly away from kissing up and down his neck. The afterglow gets a little less glowing when you read the message. 

TT: Dave, why have you and Karkat been drawing graphic pictures of genitals?  
TT: And why did you feel the need to abandon them in the common area?  
TT: I'm going to hazard a guess that whatever dragged you away must have been incredibly fucking urgent.  
TT: Worrying emphasis on the 'fucking'.  
TT: Nonetheless, Kanaya and I have alchemized a very nice noticeboard to display your artwork.  
TT: I'm sure Terezi will be licking it to pieces in no time.

Shit. Still totally worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> My wips are all going to be sad as shit soon, so have some silly nonsense. This will have two chapters, probably...


End file.
